


R.E.S.P.E.C.T (Show you what it means to me)

by therealfroggy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: Ravagers will absolutely fuck anyone below their own rank whenever the urge arises, or to demand respect, and Kraglin can't wait to be first mate so the only person to fuck him is Yondu. He is going to respect the heck out of his captain, yessir. Only, the thing is, Yondu doesn't seem to want to demand his respect in fleshy shows of obedience. This is all very confusing.Note: the concept of using sex to assert dominance is, by nature, dub- or non-conny. That being said, there's nothing graphically/explicitly non-con in this fic and the Kragdu is all about consent. Enthusiastic, sweaty consent. Enjoy!





	R.E.S.P.E.C.T (Show you what it means to me)

Kraglin has been a Ravager since he was too young to enlist, and he's learned a fair few things in his half dozen or so years with Captain Udonta and the others aboard _The Eclector_. These are some of the things that Kraglin knows:

First, hardship is part of the Ravager way. No man, woman or otherwise gendered specimen aboard the fleet signed up because they longed for an easy life. A Ravager works hard, lives in uncertainty and dies violently, and that's that. Nobody signs up for that life if they aren't prepared for hardships aplenty, and so there's little whining about the predictably hard aspects of life. Bad food, terrible sanitary conditions, interrupted sleep cycles and physical damage? All to be expected.

Second, while Ravagers are pirates and mercenaries and many other things, they are first and foremost people. They're all sorts, bipeds and quadrupeds and other things, Xandarian pink and Centaurian blue and anything in between, methane breathers and oxy breathers and what have you. There are bigots and hippies and assholes and saints, even in their ranks. True, a saintly Ravager is the kind who doesn't kill someone for fun, only for money, so the lines tend to blur a little. But Kraglin knows there are some Ravagers who'd gut you as soon as look at you, and there are some good people he trusts with his life. Just like with other groups.

Thirdly, Kraglin learned early on that whoever outranks you is your boss, and your boss' word is law. This is perhaps not strictly in accordance with intergalactic laws and whatnot, but the Code is clear: Ravagers can pull rank, and when they do, you heel or you die. Captain, of course, is at the top of that pyramid aboard each vessel. The Admiral is the only one who outranks him. Below the Captain you have the first mate, and below that it depends on each ship. Yondu Udonta prefers a pretty flat structure with only himself and his first mate elevated above the rabble, but there still needs to be a chain of command.

During his first hundred day cycles, Kraglin was at the very bottom of that chain. And he learned, quickly and quietly, that there were assholes and good guys all around him, and that nobody complained. Then he learned that pulling rank, to some, included a fair bit more than having the new recruits fetch their dinners for them.

Now, even at the tender age of seventeen – twenty on his official application – Kraglin was no stranger to the idea of helping a bloke out with a bit of stress relief. Or a non-bloke-person, for that matter. Kraglin had always been both versatile and unbothered about having a bit of fun with others, and so when one of the bridge mates pushed him into a dark corner and grabbed his ass, the young recruit shrugged and got to his knees. He had no idea what kind of genitalia the bright green bridge mate would be sporting, but he figured a wet mouth never hurt nobody.

So, the third thing Kraglin knows is really that if someone higher up the food chain wants to shove you around a bit for relief, you lie back and think of credits. Or open your mouth, or whatever. Fortunately, most Ravagers under Yondu Udonta's command have a healthy fear-based respect for their captain, and Yondu does not look kindly on anyone putting other crew members out of commission for any length of time. Once or twice, Kraglin's had to go through a shift with a distinct limp, but mostly, he just offers a helping hand, and everyone's happy.

To be honest, most of the crew aboard _The Eclector_ don't seem to find him attractive enough even for stress relief, so Kraglin doesn't really have grounds for complaint. There's this one little mechanic who's always being summoned by Yondu's first mate – a big, burly thing from an outer system who, according to rumour, has so many tentacle dicks Kraglin wonders how he manages to piss without drowning himself. Poor mechanic.

Kraglin wonders if Yondu himself partakes. If, being at the very top of the chain, the captain goes nuts and fucks anyone he wants to, or if he restricts himself to the one person who can't be fucked by anyone else – the first mate.

Kraglin can admit to himself that he'd love to be first mate, just for that. Just to know that the only person aboard the ship who could touch him without his explicit agreement, was Yondu. Not that Kraglin finds the whole unwilling-thing attractive. He's worked his way up in the half-dozen years of his Ravager career, and he's a bridge mate himself now, and he's never touched anyone who wasn't interested. But he _is _interested, is the thing.__

__Oh, who is he kidding, Kraglin is gagging for it. He's been having inappropriate boners over the blue captain of _The Eclector_ since the first time he saw him in a gun fight. He doesn't care if they're even logistically compatible beneath their leathers (and he has no idea if they are, as Yondu has his own shower and Kraglin has to get in with everyone else for _his_ weekly decontamination), he just wants to be naked with blue all over him._ _

__And to be first mate, to belong to Yondu and nobody else? Even if cap never so much as touched him, just knowing he was _owned_ like that would get Kraglin hard and shivery all over._ _

__Hard and shivery right now, in fact. Which is impractical, considering they're on the bridge and there are other people around._ _

__Yondu and his first mate – Iloq, probably short for something Kraglin isn't privy to – are standing over one of the other bridge mates, discussing coordinates and speed. Kraglin discreetly adjusts himself to make his boner less apparent, then turns to focus on his own tasks. They're going to pick up their most valuable cargo yet; some Terran kid who's supposed to go back to his non-Terran father._ _

__Kraglin hocks some spit and uses it to polish his wrist monitor. He loves big pay days, because they put Yondu into a celebratory mood, and he wonders, now that he's been bridge mate for a while, if he's any closer to being considered by Yondu for a bit of celebration._ _

____

***

Suddenly, things implode and move very fast. They're supposed to be handing the kid over to his old man, but Yondu suddenly grows a conscience – the hottest thing Kraglin has ever seen him do, by the way – and then the Admiral finds out and loses his shit, and, well. There's fighting and there is a scene and before they know it, they're drifting in space, alone in more senses of the word than space usually implies.

Iloq is dead and Yondu is furious. The crew is significantly reduced and the ship has seen better days.

Also, there is a tiny, noisy Terran on board, and even with a translator chip it doesn't make sense with all its crying and questions all intermingled. Kraglin feels bad for the little guy (he thinks it's a guy), but that doesn't protect the kid from a cuff around the ear when Yondu goes dark midnight in the face with trying to control himself.

“Shut your mouth,” Kraglin hisses, nudging the Terran. “Can't ya see cap'n's thinkin'?”

Yondu exhales noisily. “Kraglin. You're first mate. Lessgo.”

Kraglin's heart does a few rounds of gymnastics in his chest.

“Uh, yessir! Thank you, sir!”

He grabs the tiny Terran by the arm and drags him along after the captain. The rest of the Ravagers – well, exiled Ravagers now – move out of the way and hesitantly thump their breasts as Yondu passes. Kraglin feels on fire under his leathers.

“Take 'im to get settled in,” Yondu says, never breaking stride. “But, uh, medbay first. I think I mighta done sumthin' wrong with the chip. It ain't supposed to make that noise.”

Kraglin looks down at the Terran. It's making high-pitched, wailing noises interspersed with squawks of what is clearly some form of distress. Its face is wet. “I don't think that's talk, sir. Might be non-verbal signals.”

“Humph. Whatever. Medbay, then put 'im in that lil' maintenance hatch next to my room. Oh, an' get yer stuff, Kraglin,” Yondu ads as an afterthought.

“Sir?”

“First mate's quarters,” Yondu says. “Then find some booze. We're celebratin' tonight.”

“Yessir,” Kraglin says with a grin. He knows he shouldn't be smiling, not with several dead and their exile in full effect and a wet-faced Terran on his hands. But. First mate. Yondu and him, celebrating. It's pretty much everything he's been jerking off to for years.

***

For a few weeks, Kraglin does his job better than can possibly be expected from a guy learning on the job, and Yondu seems grudgingly impressed. Grudgingly because he keeps insulting Kraglin as much as he insults everyone else, but impressed because he never insults him over his job, only his looks or his aim or his uncanny way of handlimg the Terran. The kid – Peter, according to himself – seems to have decided that the lanky first mate is the only one to be trusted aboard _The Eclector_ , and so Kraglin is the one to keep him out of everyone's way.

There is no advantage-taking. Yondu never so much as suggests Kraglin suck his dick after a particularly shitty day, and their quarters are right next to each other, so Kraglin would have noticed if people were coming and going at all hours of the day. It seems, for all intents and purposes, like Yondu isn't fucking anything.

Kraglin chalks it up to a stressful period, what with all the being thrown out of the Ravagers and stuff, so he waits patiently. The captain must have needs, like the rest of them. He's never met a single life form who didn't want its dick – or equivalent – handled by a sympathetic limb at some point. So it's probably just a dry spell. At some point, surely, the captain will want his first mate to step up and do his duty.

But then it's more weeks, and they've not been planetside for about two months, and everyone else on the crew is going spare. There's fucking in every available storage closet and maintenance hatch, and Yondu has to intervene when the huge, dumb, muscly cargo officer tries to have his way with a tiny navigator for the second day in a row. The navigator looks so relieved when Yondu growls, “Find sumthin' yer own size to stick yer dick into, Jabo,” that Kraglin starts to wonder if he should put a lock on the inside of Peter's hatch.

Yondu can't have touched a crew member for months. How is he doing it? Kraglin himself is sure his own balls are of a matching shade to Yondu's skin with pure desperation, but he still keeps off the junior crew because he wants to belong to Yondu. He's developed blisters with all the jerking off he's been doing. But Yondu? The man doesn't even seem slightly itchy.

Finally, finally, they make planetfall after nearly three months in space. Yondu roars at all of them that they leave in twenty-four hours, and that anyone who isn't on board will be left behind. The crew streams out of the ship, headed for the brothels, bars and back-alleys of whatever little rock this is. Kraglin doesn't budge an inch, but watches them go from his place at Yondu's side.

“Now, finally, a man can get some peace an' quiet 'round here,” Yondu growls, then heads back into the ship. “With me, Kraglin.”

Kraglin's heart pounds. Finally. Today. The captain is about to order him to drop to his knees. He wets his lips in anticipation. “Yessir.”

They head back to the bridge. “Ain't nothin' gonna mess this up fer me,” Yondu states, loosening his coat around his waist.

“No, sir,” Kraglin agrees eagerly. Yondu leans against the door to the bridge, and Kraglin trembles.

“I'm lockin' my quarters, and I'm leavin' yours as the only open commlink,” the captain says.

Some dirty talk, Kraglin thinks to himself with a grin. He gets down on one knee, silently, right behind Yondu. Prepares to slide the other knee down next to the first one.

The captain begins to turn. “I want six hours of undisturbed sleep, an' I ain't takin' any calls, so you – Krags? What're ya doin'?”

Down on one knee, his nose almost in the captain's crotch, Kraglin blinks dumbly up at Yondu. “Uh... doin'? I just -”

“Quit foolin' and listen up,” Yondu snaps.

Kraglin may be hard for his captain, but he ain't stupid. He knows when he's about to make a fool of himsel. “Sorry, sir. Just a buckle, sir.”

And he hurriedly starts adjusting one of the straps on his boot.

“Now, as I was sayin',” Yondu says, a little irritably, “I ain't takin' no calls. Yer in charge, Obfonteri, so don't wake me up 'less the flarkin' ship's on fire. Ya hear?”

“Yessir. Only if the ship's on fire. Gotcha,” Kraglin says, red-faced, as he gets to his feet again.

“Atta boy. G'night. Ya can go out an' have yerself some fun once I'm done,” Yondu says, then pats him paternally on the cheek and leaves.

Kraglin sags.

Seven hours later, the commlink sparks into life and Yondu's gruff voice fills the bridge room. “Kraglin? My quarters. I need ya for a mo'.”

“Yessir!” Kraglin says, eagerly bounding to his feet.

Peter, who's been hanging out on the bridge with the first mate (he's much too small to be allowed anywhere at all without either Kraglin or Yondu), looks up. “Where are we going?”

“You're goin' to my quarters,” Kraglin says, grabbing the kid and pushing him towards the door. “I need t'help the captain with sumthin'.”

“But I can just wait here!” Peter protests. His short legs are having some serious difficulty keeping up with Kraglin's loping strides.

“Nah, I'm lockin' the bridge,” Kraglin says, and does just that. “'Case the others come back.”

It's not likely they will, but he's not leaving the bridge open to a crew on shore leave for the first time in months. Not to mention a Terran kid with absolutely no higher brain function, at least none that he's demonstrated so far. It's bio-locked to him and cap'n only, for now.

“Wait up, Kraglin! I can't run that fast!”

Dammit, Peter is slowing him down and Kraglin wants to be in Yondu's quarters five minutes ago. This time, for sure. This is the day when Yondu summons him to suck that magnificent (he has no idea but he's still confident it will be) dick. He doesn't have time to wait for tiny Terrans.

“Here, git up,” he says, going down on one knee next to Peter. “On my back.”

Apparently, this is something Peter recognises because he gleefully clambers onto Kraglin's back, and laughs wildly as the tall first mate nearly runs back to his quarters in his haste. Once there, Kraglin deposits Peter in his own room, orders the kid to not break anything, then locks the door behind him and finally skids to a halt outside the captain's door.

“Uh, cap'n?” he calls, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Git in here,” Yondu growls from inside.

Just like that, Kraglin is hard in his leathers. He licks his lips as he opens the door.

“Sir.”

“Yeah, good,” Yondu says. He's standing on his bed, staring at an air vent in the wall a few inches above his head. “Meant to do this weeks ago, but I kept fergettin'.”

Kraglin frowns. Really? Yondu kept forgetting to have his cock sucked? When the entire crew of his ship has been doing nothing else for the past two months? “Uh, sir?”

“Take yer boots off,” Yondu says, and for the first time, Kraglin notices bare, blue feet on the mattress. A blanket and something which looks like a fluffy, white pelt is pushed to one side on the bed. “Then git up here.”

Kraglin does as he's told. Balancing on the surprisingly soft mattress next to Yondu, he feels strangely aware of their bare feet so close together.

“I can't reach, see,” Yondu says, gesticulating to the vent. “Pretty sure there's sumthin' died in there, an' now it stinks, but my arms're too big. An' short.”

Kraglin stares at him. Reach? Arms? They're alone on the ship except for Peter and a few base crew, and Yondu called him into his personal quarters to get a dead orloni out of his vent?

“Arms,” he repeats, just to make sure.

“Stars, Obfonteri, are ya deaf? Yeah, my arms're too short! Git up there, now, afore I whistle at ya!” Yondu snaps, and Kraglin jumps to obey.

“Yessir,” he says deferentially.

He is quite a bit taller than Yondu, and his arms are in fact long and thin. Kraglin uses a knife to pop the cover off the duct. He pulls his gloves out of his back pocket and puts them on before sticking his hand in there, then dutifully feels around for anything that might have crawled in and died.

His hand hits something soft. Suppressing a grimace, he grabs it and pulls gently. If that thing has begun putrefying, it could come apart and leave orloni guts all over the place, and that, if anything, is not very conducive to the cock-sucking Kraglin hopes eventually will take place.

“Well, damn,” Yondu says when Kraglin pulls it out, and gives a long, loud belly laugh. “Stars, that's sumthin'!”

In Kraglin's gloved hand is a pair of socks. And from the size, it's one of Jabo's pairs. From the smell, they've been used for weeks on end and never decontaminated.

“I'll tell 'im we had to burn 'em, sir,” Kraglin says with a grin. “Toxic mould.”

“Atta boy,” Yondu chuckles. “A'right, Krags; now git. Have some fun. See ya tomorrow.”

And then Yondu closes the door behind him, and Kraglin is left in the hall, confused and with a handful of terminally stinky socks.

***

The thing is, Kraglin took Yondu for the randy type. The captain is all swagger and dirty grins and innuendo; he seems like the type to have a new crew member bent over every other day. Or perhaps only the junior officers; Kraglin can well imagine the captain likes to feel the power of being top dog. That's why he sort of imagined Yondu wouldn't hesitate to have his new first mate show some proper obedience.

Kraglin wants to obedience the shit right outta Yondu's dick.

Everyone else on the ship has taken advantage of their privilege at least once. Hell, even Kraglin did a few times, once he found out which of the new recruits were interested. (A jaunty “Wanna suck a bridgemate's dick before all of your pals get invited?” has garnered him not only a few laughs, but two blowjobs and a fuck to boot.) Since he was made first mate, Kraglin hasn't touched anyone else, but he's noticed his former fellow junior officers have no such compunctions.

Is Yondu really the only person aboard _The Eclector_ who doesn't get any? Or does he just fuck people so secretly Kraglin doesn't notice?

No, it has to be something else. A dry spell. A bad day turned into a bad month turned into a bad half-year. Anything to explain the fact that while Ravagers will fuck anyone they feel themselves superior to, Yondu has yet to even suggest a hand-job from Kraglin.

Unless... Kraglin scowls into his cheap drink. Maybe it's him? Maybe it's Kraglin? What if Yondu doesn't like his kind? What if the first mate is so singularly unattractive to him that he would rather wait for a decent bot-brothel?

Kraglin throws back his drink and sighs. Not impossible. Not even implausible. He's a lanky, bug-eyed, pale-faced kind of guy. Compared to the stocky, powerful captain, he's not much to look at. And maybe Yondu is so into women that he can't even stand the thought of getting a blowjob from someone with stubble?

Hell, what if Yondu doesn't even have a dick? Maybe he's got one of those egg-laying tentacles? Or maybe his species just reproduces via genetic engineering? Kraglin hasn't ever met another Centaurian, how would he know?

But... no. Part of the whole getting-sexual-favours-from-your-inferiors thing among Ravagers is a show of dominance. Yeah, sure, you get pretty desperate after a few months of deep space and after a while, anything alive looks vaguely inviting. But why don't the bigger species just fuck the smaller species and there's an end to it? Because Ravagers love establishing a pecking order. So maybe, Kraglin thinks, as he refills his glass from the bottle the bartender just left him, Yondu hasn't tried to put him in his place yet because Kraglin is just so damn eager. Subservient, even.

He's been acting like he's gagging for it, because he is. Maybe that's it? Yondu doesn't actually want to have sex with him, not even a little friendly rub, and since Kraglin's so damn obedient already there's no need for the captain to show him who's boss. Perhaps he needs to be more... assertive?

But then again, he thinks, draining his next drink, does he really want Yondu to have sex with him just to take him down a peg? Can he deal with knowing that Yondu only ever touches him to assert dominance? When he's as obsessed with the captain as he is, can he get over himself and just take what he can get?

“A'right, that's enough, mate,” the bartender says, when Kraglin tries to fill his glass from an empty bottle. “That's it for today. Be careful on your way out, yeah?”

Kraglin only falls over twice before he makes it back aboard _The Eclector_ , so he counts the night as a win.

***

“Obfonteri! What the flarkin' heck are ya doin'?”

Kraglin freezes, then straightens up as best he can and turns to Yondu with a grin. A very fake, very brave, grin. “Eatin', sir. Got hungry.”

“Stars, boy, I don't care what yer doin' with yer mouth! Whassat on _my seat_?” Yondu yells.

Kraglin looks down. Crumbs. On Yondu's – the captain's – seat. From Kraglin's protein bar. Okay, fine, and some from his pocket. He put them there on purpose, after all.

“Uh, crumbs, sir. Sorry, sir. Lemme get that for ya...” Kraglin tries to look unbothered and careless as he brushes off the seat. “There ya go, cap'n.”

Yondu stares at him. “Are you givin' me lip, boy?”

The words are slowly and carefully enunciated. Kraglin feels fear and arousal race up and down his spine. “No, sir. Not -”

He's about to say, _Not if you don't want me to_ , but he stops himself. There are other people on the bridge and he knows Yondu keeps his affairs private. Instead, he finishes, lamely, “Not me, sir.”

Yondu scowls at him, but sits down and takes command. “Aright, lessgo. We about ready fer the next jump?”

Kraglin has butterflies for the rest of his shift. Now, surely, Yondu will need to show him who's boss and make some demands. Tonight, surely, he'll be summoned to the captain's quarters and told to bend over. He grins to himself. This time, for sure.

***

It's not this time. Yondu just moves on and no punishment seems forthcoming. Kraglin decides to up the ante and the next time he has the chance, he spills a drink on Yondu's sleeve.

He gets a week of double shifts for his troubles, but no dominance is asserted in a fleshy way.

Desperate as the weeks tick on, Kraglin tries anything he can think of. He gives Yondu lip in front of a potential client, and the older man just slaps him upside the head and laughs. He lets Peter draw on the walls in crayon and Yondu just makes the kid wash it all off again, lecturing about not getting talked into things by idiots who don't have your best interests at heart. Kraglin contradicts one of the captain's fuel estimates and the Centaurian simply hums, scratching a little at his implant, then cedes that Kraglin has a point and changes their direction accordingly.

No matter what Kraglin tries, Yondu doesn't drag him off for some disciplinary nookie. And Kraglin has been celibate for nearly six months now and is getting pretty desperate.

“Obfonteri, my quarters,” Yondu will say over the commlink, and Kraglin will rush towards his captain, only to be met with some tedious first mate task. A strategy meeting. A supply issue. Something faulty in Yondu's quarters that he can't reach himself (after the air vent, there's a light fixture and something wedged in a ceiling duct). Once, on a night which has Kraglin jerking off four times before breakfast, Yondu stomps into Kraglin's room and demands that the first mate help stitch up a small but deep wound on his back. He can't reach it himself and he refuses to tell Kraglin how he got it, and Kraglin is hard in his leather jumpsuit for hours.

It's been five months, two weeks and six days since Kraglin was made first mate, and the closest he's gotten to Yondu is fumbling over a wound on his upper back. He's given up hope, and nowadays Kraglin is just moping around, following Yondu around like a kicked puppy and doing his job. It sucks, but Kraglin is out of ideas and there are only so many times a man can be disappointed before he realises he needs to stop leaving himself open to it.

“Krags, git,” Yondu says as he passes his first mate in the hallway, and Kraglin shrugs and follows him, even if he was on his way to mess.

“Got us some protein bars,” Yondu says, patting his pocket. “Don't say I don't take care o' ya.”

The thought of how he really wants Yondu to take care of him wrenches in Kraglin's guts. “Sir.”

He follows his captain all the way back to their quarters, doors side by side, and then Yondu gestures to his own door. “In.”

Kraglin looks around once he's in Yondu's room. “What's gone broke this time, sir?”

“Ain't nothin' broke,” Yondu grumbles, then sits heavily on his bed. “C'mere. Siddown. Eat.”

He holds the protein bar out, and Kraglin takes it. When his captain says eat, he eats. So he tears the wrapper and starts munching, waiting for orders or information. He's stooped and hunched over, sitting next to Yondu, and the closeness of the other man burns.

“I been noticin' you ain't all good lately,” Yondu says abruptly. “All hang-dog, like. You ain't even givin' me sass no more. So, spill. Whassa problem?”

Kraglin stops chewing. He stares at the grim red eyes, the downturned blue lips. Yondu is serious. He's seriously, actually, asking after Kraglin's well-being. He swallows heavily, then clears his throat. “Problem, sir? Ain't no problem.”

“Don't gimme that,” the Centaurian snaps. “I know you, Krags. I know sumthin' ain't right.”

“Well, sure, yeah, but it's... personal. Sir,” Kraglin ads, not wanting the captain to think he's being rude. “I'll git myself together, though. If'n it helps.”

Yondu sighs and squirms. He looks supremely uncomfortable. Then, grudgingly, he asks, “'S girl troubles, innit?”

Kraglin chokes on his protein bar. “What? No!”

“Well, person troubles,” Yondu clarifies. “Sure it is. That long face, not gettin' any – quit yer sputterin', Obfonteri, I know ya ain't taken advantage of yer position yet – I seen that show. It ain't good for morale. 'S why I don't say anythin' when the crew gets feisty with the new'uns. Blue balls ain't good for Ravager business.”

“Uh,” Kraglin comments intelligently. He's mortified and sure his blush is turning him purple from the chest up. “Sorry, sir?”

“I expect ya ter get laid soon, Krags. I can't do this without ya, an' I need ya sharp,” Yondu says seriously.

Except with the blood rushing in his ears and his dick throbbing in his leathers, all Kraglin hears is “get laid” and “need ya”. And he bounds to his feet.

“Yessir.”

Then he drops to his knees and starts pawing at his captain's belt. Need him, get laid. Yes. Absolutely. Kraglin can do this. He can absolutely get Yondu laid. Right now, in fact. Right this instant.

“Obfonteri! What in the flarkin' stars -” Yondu yelps.

“Gettin' laid, sir. Suckin' dick. I can do that,” Kraglin mutters, batting Yondu's hands away and trying to reach into the opening he just made in the leather.

“I meant with someone ya like!” Yondu snaps, and Kraglin freezes. “Thrice-damned stars, boy, have ya ever seen me forcin' someone? Did I ever touch anyone who weren't up for it? Cunt of a Kree whore, Krags, I know there's a lotta rough-housin' around this ship, but I never – I don't do that!”

Kraglin, who's just managed to get his fingers brushing up against Yondu's undershirt, slowly withdraws his hands. “I'll be glad to suck yer dick, though, sir. Yer cap'n. Ya deserve -”

Yondu growls dangerously, then composes himself and whistles. It's Kraglin's turn to yelp as the arrow blinks into existence right beneath his chin.

“Now you listen, boy, an' you listen good,” the Centaurian says, and he's enunciating properly again. Kraglin feels mainly fear this time.

“I ain't never, _ever_ touched anyone what didn't want me to. I put up with a certain degree o' that among the crew, 'cause I know it ain't nothin' too serious, an' I can't control my crew as much as I'd like. They's Ravagers. I step in to stop it if it gets too serious. But don't you _ever_ think you need to get on yer knees fer me, Obfonteri,” Yondu snarls, eyes crimson with fury. “Ya hear? Not. Ever.”

Kraglin's heart is thudding in his chest. “I know, sir. I know I don't... gotta. But, uh. I wanna?”

There's perfect silence aside for the engines thrumming for the longest moment.

“You what?” Yondu demands, but he doesn't sound angry, rather confused.

“I, uh, sorry, sir. Wasn't gonna say anythin'. But, uh, I really wanna. Suck yer dick. 's that... 's that okay?”

Yondu looks at him funny. The arrow falls to the floor. “You... you wanna. Even though I'm tellin' ya, you don't hafta.”

“Yes, sir,” Kraglin says, emboldened. “Cap'n, I wanna suck yer dick.”

Yondu's face closes off and his eyes go grim again. He whistles, but the arrow simply returns to its holster. “Get yer kicks from servicin' yer superiors, Obfonteri?” He seems angry and disappointed at once.

Kraglin feels shame flush his face. “It ain't like that, sir. I never went in for this kinda thing before. 'S just... 's just you. Sir.”

Yondu gapes.

“I mean... well, now I might as well tell ya,” Kraglin sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. He's still on his knees in front of Yondu. “I want ya, cap'n. Wanted ya fer ages. So, y'know, if ya need me to, I ain't protestin' a bit o' stress relief. 'Cause I want ya.”

Yondu is still gaping, but his eyes are glowing a deeper red than ever before.

“But I ain't gonna make this awkward or nothin',” Kraglin promises. “I get it, sir, ya ain't... that way inclined. I don't blame ya. Just don't, uh, please don't kill me or nothin'?”

His stomach is in knots. His hands are, stars, they're _shaking_ , like he's high on something. He looks down, unable to meet that fiery red gaze any longer. Flark it, he's ruined everything. He bites his lip to stop himself from babbling.

“Krags,” Yondu says from above him, and Kraglin blinks. Is the captain's voice as shaky as he himself feels?

“Krags, c'mon, look at me, dammit,” Yondu insists.

Kraglin looks up.

“I don't ever want ya ta repeat this, an' if ya get ideas about not obeyin' yer captain, I'll whistle ya through and pin yer balls to the mess door,” Yondu says, and his cheeks are going a darker indigo. “But, uh, yeah. I am – that way. Inclined. Fer you.”

Kraglin's heart leaps so hard he gets a little dizzy. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

“Balls, Obfonteri, say sumthin', will ya?” the captain snaps.

“I... I been pantin' for it since about the time I met ya, sir,” the first mate hears himself say. “I don't know what else to say.”

Yondu grabs his shirt and pulls, and Kraglin comes willingly until he's leaning up, hands braced to either side of Yondu's thighs on the bed. Their faces are barely an inch apart.

“You gonna call me Yondu?” the Centaurian challenges.

“Yondu,” Kraglin gasps, “please!”

Yondu makes a sound deep in his chest and kisses his first mate. Kraglin pushes into it and kisses back as well as he can, what with the pleasurable shock and the rush of blood to his groin again. Yondu tastes like protein bar and gruff, unwashed captain, and Kraglin wants to drown himself in it. Like, literally breathe Yondu in until it kills him. Happily.

“I wanna, sir. Yondu,” he corrects, his lips dragging against Yondu's as he speaks. “Wanna suck yer dick. Wanna bend over fer ya.”

Yondu groans and grabs his ass. “Stars, boy, you serious?”

“Ain't a boy, but, yeah,” Kraglin says with a grin, panting a little. This kissing stuff sure takes the breath out of you. “Fer _years_.”

“Get'em off,” Yondu mutters, undoing whatever he can reach in the manner of zips and buckles. “Want ya naked, Krags, every last stitch.”

Kraglin strips, and Yondu strips, and suddenly, there's just all that flesh. All that blue he's wanted since he was seventeen. Yondu is strong, thick-limbed, solid and powerful where he sits, stroking himself lazily as his eyes rake over Kraglin's scrawny form. The first mate is self-conscious under that gaze. He knows he's not much of a looker.

“Well, come on, then,” Yondu says, eyes glittering. “Git.”

Kraglin licks his lips and sinks to his knees. The floor is cold and hard on his kneecaps, but he doesn't care. Yondu is about to move his hand out of the way so he can finally – _finally_ – get at that dick. Because Yondu has a dick, that much is finally clear.

It's pretty similar to Kraglin's own, only pale blue, and the balls are clearly only external when he's aroused. They're out now, and Kraglin shuffles closer to take full advantage. He lowers his head to the captain's groin and gives his balls a tentative lick. Yondu groans deep in his chest. Kraglin licks at his cock, too. Yondu bucks into his grip.

Kraglin licks his lips and takes the whole head – wider but softer than his own – into his mouth. He sucks, then pushes down, trying to take in more. Yondu shudders. Kraglin samples the taste – bitter, slightly sour, but passable – and dives in, trying to suck down more.

“Flares,” Yondu warns, and yeah, that happens. Suddenly. Right against Kraglin's soft palate. He gags a little, but then the flare goes down, and he sucks again.

“Gonna happen again,” Yondu pants, but this time, Kraglin's ready for it. He feels the expansion of the tissue underneath the hot skin on his tongue, and he holds his breath, relaxes his jaw and lets Yondu fill his mouth.

“Gerroff,” Yondu pants, a hand rubbing firmly into Kraglin's jaw. “Don't wanna shoot in yer mouth. Gerroff!”

Kraglin releases him and backs up a little. He looks up at Yondu and all that blue is enough to drown in, all on its own. “Wanna fuck me, sir?”

Yondu groans and covers his eyes. “Don't say it like that! I gotta work with ya after this, Krags; I can't be poppin' wood every time ya call me sir!”

“Sorry, sir,” Kraglin says, unrepentant, and climbs onto the bed. “Slick?”

“What, dontcha self-lubricate on yer planet?” the captain chuckles, but he reaches into his nightstand drawer. The tube he pulls out is a little dented, but largely unused.

“Not the males, no,” Kraglin grins. “We're an off-shoot from Xandarians.” He opens the tube and begins working the slick around on his fingers. “Your planet?”

“Same,” Yondu admits. “So, uh, guess I gotta get me a good supply o' this. Fer, ya know, next time.”

Kraglin's heart thuds again, painfully so. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, do that.”

He shoves two fingers into himself; he's not prepared for the burn but he wants it with an edge, he wants to feel this for days. He wants to twinge every time he sits down and he wants that to be Yondu's doing. So Kraglin hastily prepares himself, just enough so it won't properly hurt, and then he bends over with his ass in the air and his legs spread.

“Ready.”

Yondu's hands slide up along his back, cup around his shoulders and pull him a little more upright. Then one hand steadies his hip and the other fumbles behind him, and then...

Kraglin bites the pillow. It stings, a little, but it's more the fact that he'd scream from sheer relief if he didn't. He's been waiting for this for _years_.

“Kraggles, you okay?” comes Yondu's husky voice. “Tha's... tha's tight.”

“Fuuuck,” Kraglin gasps.

“I'm a-doin',” Yondu chuckles, then thrusts, and Kraglin cries out.

“Yondu!”

The captain's cock is splitting him open and Kraglin can't stop making noise. It's like he's whimpering and groaning at the same time, and every thrust into him pushes out a little sound of _yes, please, more, deeper, harder, Yondu, fuckin' hell, do it!_ He wants everything, just more, and he wants it to never stop.

But then Yondu stops. “Krags?”

“Nooo...” Kraglin complains into the pillow.

There's a silence and then Yondu begins pulling out. “Sorry, Obfonteri. Should-a seen ya was only tryin' ta be nice.”

Kraglin reaches a hand back to grab Yondu's hip. “Nah, sir, don't stop! Wantcha to keep goin'. Please. Was only sayin' no ter the stoppin'.”

“Kraglin, you're shakin'. This ain't right,” Yondu growls, and he pulls out all the way. The head flares again on the way out and the first mate groans again.

“Ain't 'cause I don't like it, s- Yondu,” Kraglin pants, turning around to meet his captain's eyes. “Really. 'S just, I been waitin' fer this. Been keepin' outta the storage rooms, no fun with crew. 'S been a while, an' I want ya, an'... Cap'n. I really, really don't want ya ta stop.”

Yondu, sitting back on his knees, looks dubious. “How long?”

“About six months?” Kraglin admits, averting his eyes. “Bit more, probably. 'S just, I never... I ain't been like this with... with anyone, before. 'S a bit new, 's all.”

“I need ta know this ain't hurtin' ya, Krags,” Yondu says, and he's blushing magnificently.

“Well... If ya get on yer back, cap'n?” Kraglin suggests, his abdomen twitching as he says it. One of his more recent fantasies, this, and not something he's ever dared dream that Yondu might actually allow. “I can... I can show ya.”

Yondu looks dubious, but he lies down and looks up at his first mate. “So?”

Kraglin eagerly shifts until he's straddling those blue hips. He can convince his boss he loves this, really, he can. He reaches down and holds Yondu's blue dick steady, watches as Yondu's eyes darken into crimson again, and then he starts pushing down.

“Huh,” Yondu breathes. “Tha's... different.”

“Yeah,” Kraglin moans, feeling another ripple as the head of Yondu's cock flares right into him. “Different. 'S good.”

Yondu's claws dig into his skin as the captain's hands grip onto his hips. Kraglin is about to come just from the look of his captain's awed expression as he slowly lifts and drops. He's full, stuffed, impaled on blue dick and he's never been so strung-out in his life. His own dick twitches against his stomach.

Kraglin Obfonteri is about to shoot his load because he's so damn in love with his captain, and ain't that a hoot?

“Ya like this, Krags?” Yondu growls, thrusting slowly up to meet the other man's hips. “Ya like ridin' my dick?”

“Love it, sir,” Kraglin gasps. “Fuck, fuck, harder, gotta – yeah, that!”

Yondu begins thrusting in earnest, the meaty slaps of their hips meeting almost drowning out Kraglin's groans. Kraglin tries to keep still, to let Yondu control the pace, and grabs his dick instead, pulling it roughly in time with the one entering him. He bites his lip and chases orgasm.

“Want ya ta come, boss,” he manages, thumbing over the head of his cock on every jerk. “In me. Fuck!”

Yondu closes his eyes tightly. “Shut yer mouth, Obfonteri! Tryin' ta concentrate here.”

Then the captain's dick begins to flare at intervals, rhythmically, all along the tight passage it's thrusting into. Kraglin's prostate is squeezed repeatedly and he can't take it, it's too good, he's a breath away from coming when Yondu grabs his mohawk and pulls, forcing Kraglin to bend until the first mate's lips are within range. His hand is trapped between them and he can't jerk himself, but then Yondu's dick pulses against his prostate so hard he whites out for a second and the captain bites his lip and Kraglin can't hold it.

He comes, all over them and with a drawn-out, keening moan, his legs shuddering and his back protesting the strain and Yondu licking a drop of blood from between their mouths. Kraglin comes so hard he clenches up all over and Yondu yelps into his mouth.

It's so good.

“That's disgustin',” Yondu chuckles even as he keeps thrusting. “All yer... stuff. All over me.”

“Yer own fault, sir,” Kraglin moans, rocking back a little to meet the suddenly too-intense thrusts. “Ow, fuck, wouldya come already?”

Yondu snarls and digs his claws into skin deliberately. Kraglin hisses and moves faster, bucking in his captain's lap. The sounds they're making are kinda nasty; wet squelches and skin on skin, Yondu's pants of exertion. Kraglin doesn't even care that his ass is getting pounded sore; he could lie there, crouched over Yondu all night.

Then Yondu stiffens and growls and his dick is expanding suddenly inside Kraglin's body, and first mate and captain chorus a groan as Yondu's coming hard. Kraglin's breath hitches at the thought of his captain filling him with it, claiming him properly. Yondu's fingers twitch as he pumps a few more times before sprawling bonelessly on the mattress.

“Fuck me sideways, sir,” Kraglin mutters into the blue skin underneath him. “Tha's sumthin'.”

Youndu chuckles again. “I'll say. You, uh, okay? After... after all that?”

“Ain't never been this sore, or this pleased about it,” Kraglin says, then, daringly, kisses at the chest beneath his lips. “Thanks, sir.”

“Boy, you keep callin' me sir and we're gonna have us a problem,” Yondu warns, but his voice doesn't sound angry. “Ain't never gonna get comfortable in my leathers again if'n ya keep that up.”

“Yondu,” Kraglin amends, then sits up just so he can look at his captain's face.

The Centaurian looks a little worried in between the post-orgasmic euphoric blinking.

“This 's good, right?” Kraglin asks, worrying at his own lip. “I mean, us. Fuckin'. 'S just sumthin' extra, sumthin' fun, an' we can still work together an' all. Right? I swear, cap'n, I ain't gonna make it weird.”

“Right,” Yondu echoes, and his face softens a little. “Ain't gonna be a problem.”

Kraglin feels himself grin. “An' if'n ya want, sir, I can start givin' ya head now while ya read the accounts. I know ya hate the accounts.”

Yondu laughs, then, properly laughs. Kraglin feels it in his entire body, billowing up from where's Yondu's still inside him.

“I do hate them accounts,” he admits, and then strokes his hands over his first mate's thighs. “Uh, should-a probably warned ya, though. The swellin' ain't goin' down right away. Meant for securin' reproduction an' all that. If we fuck, we're gonna be stuck for a lil' while after.”

The swelling in question, namely Yondu's magnificent, blue dick, is throbbing gently inside Kraglin, a heavy reminder of what they've just been up to. Kraglin shivers.

“I don't mind. I like it.”

“So, uh. Next time,” Yondu begins, and Kraglin pricks his ears up. “Wanna try tradin' places?”

Kraglin can feel his entire body strain to produce another erection, but fail miserably. His dick gives a single, desperate little twitch. “Stars, sir, I can't think o' anythin' I'd like more.”

“Good,” Yondu says, a slight grin on his face. “I ain't normally this keen on doin' the fuckin', see. I like to switch it up.”

Kraglin groans and leans forwards until he can kiss Yondu's neck, and then the captain grudgingly allows their lips to meet. “Fuck, Yondu. Maybe I should-a tried a lil' insubordination after all? Gotten you to demand I fuck ya to show some proper respect?”

Yondu grins. “Sounds good, Krags. Sounds real good.”

***

So now Kraglin knows four things:

One: Ravagers lead hard lives and nobody complains about it.

Two: Ravagers are people and have all the needs and wants and personality types of regular people.

Three: Your superior is your boss, and your boss' word is law.

Four: Yondu likes nothing better than to be fucked over the consoles on the bridge when no one else is there, and when Yondu wants to be fucked, Kraglin fucks to within an inch of his life. It's the only way the captain wants to be shown proper respect from his first mate.

Kraglin loves being the only man who gets to respect the fuck outta Yondu's ass so much, he doesn't even complain when he has to clean up after them. The consoles have never looked so shiny.


End file.
